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been surprised at the ordinariness of the Cleaners’ appearance – a couple of thirty-something men in overalls. They shook hands warmly with the Doctor, and then turned to Kevin to do the same. It had felt strange to let them take his right hand in what he knew to be only a facsimile of a human hand. He tried to imagine their handshakes feeling different underneath, but couldn’t detect anything.
    They looked him straight in the eye as they performed the very human ritual, and he could see no hint of the alien visage lurking behind. He felt curiously naked and observed; disadvantaged by the fact that he was the one presenting his true face to the world. Strangest of all was that they spoke with what sounded to his ears like Eastern European accents.
    “Are you yanking my chain? Are they, like, actually Polish or Hungarian or something?” he whispered when the two had started work in the bathroom.
    The Doctor beamed. “Pretty good facsimile, eh? I always try to make my clients’ disguises reflect human trends as closely as possible. I have to say that the opening of your borders to Eastern Europeans has made it considerably easier for all of us. It always is when there are waves of migration. The greater the variety, the easier it is. Just don’t expect these lads to smoke, or to stand around drinking cans of beer on street corners.”
    “That is, like, such a racial stereotype!”
    “And precisely because you recognise it, that makes it a valid observation. The Eastern Europeans are also a great deal harder-working than native Brits, and set up in jobs that you people are too lazy or fussy to do. Hence the reason these fellows can adopt the personae of cleaners from Eastern Europe so successfully.”
    The duo emerged from the bathroom. Each was carrying a sealed transparent bag. One was quite compact and contained Mrs Plensca’s bones. The other was fuller, and held her husband’s more substantial remains.
    “All done, boss,” said the one who seemed to be in charge, with a cheeky wink to Kevin. His colleague opened a black rubbish bag and put the smaller body-bag into it. “Done to Rindan standard, with ritual blessings. For you, Doctor, special rate. Is two thousand with receipt, sixteen hundred cash.”
    “Well, you know I need the receipt, Grk.”
    Grk shrugged. “Is all same for me. VAT cost me four hundred with receipt. Taxman take off honest man, innit?”
    “My point is that the Rindan embassy will have to foot the bill and I need to show them a receipt.”
    “Is not my problem, boss. I not kill no one. Asides, no one else can do job. Maybe you want boy here do job. Yes? He know Rindan ritual blessings performance for deaths?” He indicated Kevin with a nod.
    His colleague was trying to stuff the transparent bag containing the lower half of Mr Plensca into a black garbage bag. He tried bending the legs at the knee, but rigor mortis had set in and he had to give up. He took out a second black plastic bag and covered the out-of-towner’s pale green feet with it. He tied a third bag around the package and seemed satisfied with the resulting package.
    “Asides,” said Grk, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “You give me money, end of month you take money from me for rent, get money from Rindan embassy. Pfft ! Doctor How win every time.”
    The Doctor fumbled for his wallet and began counting out notes. “Yes, but I pay taxes in every blasted jurisdiction I do business in, Grk. And I have all the responsibility being a Time Keeper entails. You’re carefree.”
    Grk rolled his eyes out of the Doctor’s field of view. “Hey, Kev. Maybe you work for Grk, yes? You not sick when you see this mess. Is good stomach you have for human. You need learn Squill, talk with co-workers other systems out-of-town.” He reached out and squeezed Kevin’s upper arm, then prodded his stomach. “Ah. You not so fit, no? Too much piri-piri or fried chicks, yes? Eat fries food. Not enough exercise. Listen